By the Fountain Cool, In the Greenwood Shade
by Jack of None
Summary: Frog could find it in his hero's heart to forgive Magus, and Magus could never forgive him that. FrogMagus.


Magus was extremely disappointed in Frog.

Not so long ago, when Magus had been the Wizard King and feared throughout the land, his battle with Cyrus and his lackey Glenn had always been his favorite example of his power. He had used it, variously, to illustrate both his mercy -- he could have killed the boy outright, but chose instead to simply teach him an object lesson in respect -- and his inventive cruelty -- after all, he had ruined the boy's life and doomed him to a miserable existence as a hideous monster.

Or so he thought. He knew the moment Frog stepped into his runic circle with his sword drawn that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong with his punishment.

For one, he wasn't cringing at the sight of his former tormentor. He didn't seem to be shunned by the rest of humanity, as he had two examples of that regrettable species tagging along with him at the time.

Glenn taunted him like a pantomime parody of a heroic knight -- archaic, polite, and littered with cliches.

_I rather enjoy this form. And I owe it all to thee_. And then the hero Frog, who had been the boy Glenn, drew his sword. Even without turning around, Magus knew what sword it was. He could hear the whispering of the wind as it hissed out of the scabbard, and felt a chill down his spine that meant he was in the presence of an artifact from his childhood. As ridiculous as it seemed, Frog had managed to find and reforge the Masamune. The black wind blew again, and he felt a nameless dread that he had not felt for centuries -- not since he had been called by another name, in a long-forgotten time.

They fought, and Magus fell to Frog's blade. It was the most humiliating moment of his life, and he swore he could hear the childlike laughter of the wind spirits as he fell into unconsciousness and slipped through the fabric of the universe.

Time passes. It jumps forward, and backward, and everything changes.

Now, Magus was willing to put aside his differences with nearly every one of his new companions in order to secure a future for the world that was amenable to him, and to have his vengeance on that monster Lavos besides. Though it pleased him greatly that his people in 1000AD regarded him with nearly godlike reverence, the rest of history after that was filled with destruction and desolation, and that was not to his liking. He had agreed to journey with this rather unpleasant band of starry-eyed idealists and their pet savage and their walking junkyard. He had even agreed to fight alongside that insufferable amphibian and his awful sword.

But he categorically refused to have the creature tend to his wounds.

"Thou'rt hurt," Frog said, kneeling next to Magus. The wizard narrowed his eyes.

"Barely," he said. "It's a minor scratch. Save your worry for Lucca when she comes back. I'm sure she'll need it more."

Frog's wide amphibian face was not particularly expressive, but it managed 'serious' quite well. "Magus," Frog said. With his affected mode of speech, Magus was not sure whether forgoing an honorific was meant to be familiar or insulting. "Dost thou still bear me ill will?"

"I've every reason to," Magus replied curtly. "Last time we saw each other, you were trying to kill me."

Frog blinked and made a soft ribbiting sound that passed for a sigh. "I thought that matter settled."

That was exactly the thing about Frog that irritated Magus the most. Seething anger, icy hatred, even gruff tolerance he could accept -- but Frog accepted Magus's presence with a sort of magnanimous forgiveness that set Magus's teeth on edge. Like most everything about Frog, it was simply too ideal -- too perfectly in line with the image of a storybook knight. He was almost maddeningly predictable, to the point where Magus simply wished he would do something -- anything -- counter to his image.

"Settled?" Magus said. He turned to face Frog, who had leaned back against the tree with a thoughtful expression. "Is that all? Didn't you promise your friend that you'd have vengeance?"

If the mention of Cyrus angered Frog, he did not show it. He merely closed his wide, wet eyes and said, "Thou think'st me a coward, then? That I hath forsaken the vow I laid upon Cyrus's grave? Nay, 'tis Cyrus himself would want me to set aside my own enmity for the good of the world."

"And you did, just like that."

"'Tis a noble thing to serve a cause," Frog said. "And here, surely, even thou must see a cause greater than vengeance against one man."

Magus could stand it no longer. He clenched his gloved fist with a creak of leather and slammed his hand against the bark inches from Frog's head. Frog barely flinched, but stared up at Magus impassively.

"Drop it," Magus snarled. Frog blinked in polite confusion. "All of this knight-errant nonsense. It's an act."

Magus's face was barely inches from Frog's -- he could see the uneven forest light reflected off of the clammy sheen of Frog's skin, strangely alien against his well-worn, unremarkable armor. "I am all that I appear to be," he said, more gently than Magus was expecting.

"No," Magus said, seizing Frog by one armored shoulder. "You see, I'm the only one you can't fool. I'm the only one left who remembers what you were before -- you didn't talk like a fairy tale hero back then. You weren't even a warrior. You were a sniveling nobody hiding behind the reputation of a supposed hero. And you expect me to accept that you're suddenly the picture of nobility and honor? What the hell do you take me for?"

Frog made no move to extricate himself from Magus's grip. "Doth my conduct surprise thee?" Frog said. Magus shook his head.

"I killed your best friend right in front of your eyes, and you spent years doing very little but plotting ways to reforge Masamune and stick it through my heart. Anyone who could set that aside is either a saint, a liar, or a fool. I don't believe in saints. Now, Frog -- if that's the name you want to be called now -- which one are you?"

Frog, finally, looked away. "A fool, mayhap, if thou would'st have it so. But 'tis thou who made me thus, Magus. This form is entirely thine own doing."

For the first time, perhaps, since he had woven the spell that he had been so terribly proud of, Magus took a good look at Frog. It occurred to him that if he had been trying to make the boy into a monster, he really could have done better. Girded up with armor and sword, he hardly looked horrifying, or even pathetic -- actually, he looked as though he had stepped from the pages of a children's chapbook, setting off in all his finery to court Mistress Mouse. No wonder he had found it a small matter to endear himself to the fine ladies and gentlemen of Queen Leene's court. Having this odd Frog-Knight strutting about, with his ready sword and his courtly manners, would have given the place that air of fairy-tale absurdity that aristocrats loved so much. He should have just turned him into a real frog. It would have been far less complicated in the end.

"That'll teach me to leave my enemies alive, I suppose," Magus said, without conviction. Trying to get a rise out of Frog's peculiarly even temper was not turning out to be a rewarding endeavor.

"'Twas a moment of mercy -- a reflection of long ago. Magus," Frog said, looking away suddenly, "if we had met then, dost thou not think we might have been friends?"

It's an odd question, and one that caught Magus rather off guard. "Why?" Magus snapped.

"'Tis a difficult thing to persist in hatred," Frog said, his voice very quiet, "when thou hast gazed upon thine enemy and found there a mirror."

"What are you talking about?"

"Janus -- that was thy name, as Glenn was mine. And thy sister...surely, thou loved her as loved Cyrus, the twin of my very soul. Thou wished destruction upon Lavos as I wished destruction upon thee, and with better cause. For though thou struck down Cyrus, more dear to me a brother, I cannot deny that he stood against thee as an enemy and would have put thee to the sword as gladly as thou had slain him."

Schala. Of course, Frog would manage to stab directly at his weakest spot. For a moment he was struck silent, unsure whether to respond, walk away, or hit Frog, but he was interrupted by a small ribbit of concern.

"Ah, thy wound," Frog said, "'tis opened again." And before Magus could protest, Frog had seized his hand and began to examine the wound on Magus's arm.

"I told you, it's nothing," Magus said, but Frog ignored him in favor of peeling back the tattered, bloodstained cloth to get a closer look at the injury. It was a long, shallow cut, left by some overly territorial dinosaur; Frog went about his task with an unusual gentleness, as though afraid of damaging Magus further, and then abruptly clenched his eyes shut and drew in a deep, reflective breath. A moment later, Magus felt the familiar warm numbness that always accompanied healing magic.

It always bothered him slightly when his companions performed magic. After all, that was something that had always been relegated to his people -- first the Enlightened Ones in their castles above the clouds, and later on the Mystics, his race's demi-human descendants. It particularly bothered him to see Frog casting spells as easily as any aristocrat of Zeal -- some streak of noble pride, perhaps, left over from his childhood. At any rate, Frog was a competent spell-caster, and it was barely a minute before the dinosaur bite had been completely erased.

For a moment, Frog did not move, and kept his hand wrapped around Magus's arm. He appeared to be trying to catch his breath. "...you're shaking," Magus said. Frog nodded.

"'Tis cold," he said, without looking up, "here in the shade. And magic...doth require some exertion, even for such a small thing."

"But why on earth would that make you..." Magus began, and noticed the clammy feel of Frog's slick skin on his wrist. "Oh. You're a damned idiot to channel the element of water when you're cold-blooded, you know."

"I had...little choice in the matter," Frog said, still shivering. "We are...not all of us...born sorcerers."

"And doubly an idiot for going to such great trouble over what's really nothing but a minor scratch, on a cold day in the forest."

"Was it not thyself who named me so? A fool, thou callest me." Frog's voice faltered, more than could possibly be ascribed to the chill. "A fool indeed, Magus," he said, very quietly. "O, such a fool I am."

Magus was rather taken aback by this pronouncement. They sat for a moment in silence, but Frog did not seem inclined to offer any further explanation. Gradually, the sun emerged from behind its cover of clouds, and Magus found himself sitting in a pool of sunlight filtering in from a hole in the canopy of leaves.

"...here," Magus said, shifting a foot or two to the side. "I never liked the sun much anyway."

Frog slid, gratefully, into the space Magus had occupied a moment ago. Much to Magus's surprise, he found himself with Frog leaning against his arm, his enormous eyes closed and the new sunlight glinting on his vast, impassive face.

"Thou'rt a villain, and an unchivalrous rogue," Frog said, his voice barely audible. "But...O, thou may'st be forgiven."

"How many times must I tell you that you're a damned fool?"

"As many times as you wish," Frog said, drawing himself closer, "for thou'rt warm."

Magus really saw no way to argue with that point.


End file.
